Askran Knights
by Askran-Valkyrie
Summary: This is the tale of two Askran Soldiers, and their journey to the end of the war with Muspel. While the Order of Heroes fights for lofty ideals, Iaomai and Jorta are just trying to stay alive.


Red stained the young man's vision as he drove his spear through the warrior's throat. The Muspellian gurgled before falling to his knees, and within his eyes the young man could see hints of anger, drowned in fear. The young man pressed his boots to the soldier's shoulder and pushed him off the head of his spear, and as the soldier collapsed red spattered across the snowy field outside of Snjarhof. The Askran army had come to the Sanctuary in search of Princess Gunnthra of Nifl, and the promise of salvation from the invading Muspellians but all they had found was more Muspel soldiers.

The next soldier was on him without much time to breath. A massive brute covered head to toe in plate, wielding a sword nearly as tall as he. The young man leapt back, nearly crashing into another Askran soldier. The young man searched the armored lug for as point in which his spear might find purchase through the plates. The Muspellian charged again, his massive blade dividing the snow. The young man charged forward and as the Muspellian raised his sword overheard, threatening to smash down on the Young Man like a hammer, he stuck. The young man dropped forward onto his knees, sliding across the snow and drove his spear into the armpit of his aggressor. The knight's sword fell into the snow with a heavy thud, and the Askran soldier took his chance.

The soldier raised her hammer high, slamming it into the chest of the knight. The Young Man flinched as the air filled with sound of steel scratching steel, and a sickening crack. The knight fell to his knees, slain, propped up on a broken spear. The young man breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"My thanks," he wheezed. His voice sounded gravely to the soldier, and she wondered briefly if he had gone hoarse screaming into the fray. She extended her arm to him, gratefully he pulled himself to his feet.

"Of course. The more of us who can make it home the better." She replied.

The two Askran soldiers looked in the direction of the sanctuary. Bright red light and columns of smoke choked out the daylight as much as the setting sun. Their armies strategist, a man named Kiran, had sounded the retreat nearly an hour ago. The Muspellians pursued them like dogs on a hunt, and many of their brothers and sisters in arms had already fallen.

"My name is Iaomai," the young man said as he lifted his helmet. His hair was short and slicked back with sweat. He bore a cut above his left eyebrow.

"I am Jorta," she responded in kind. She revealed that hidden beneath her helmet was dirt colored hair, a bruised temple, and blue eyes. The pair shook hands.

On the horizon the pair could see rider's baring the Muspellian flag. The Askran's counted half a dozen. They lowered their helmets, and nodded to each other. The Knight had wielded his sword with one hand, but Iaomai required two to lift it. He hoped he could use it effectively, as he doubted he would have the time to remove his spear from the dead man.

"If we can steal those horses we may be able to make it back to the main army," he said with a bravado he did not feel. His muscles ached, and his spirit was weary. Jorta nodded in agreement, readying her hammer.

"The Niflians believe that dead warriors dine forever within the halls of the ancestors," she replied. Her tone flecked with humor.

"Do you think they would make room for us?" he asked. She barked out a laugh.

"Maybe the Summoner will bring us home," she scathed. "If not, what good is he?"

The Muspellians fell on them moments later. The Knight's blade cut clear through the first rider's horse. Maybe that was its purpose, Iaomai thought. The Rider fell to the ground beneath his horse and cried out in pain. Jorta side stepped the first Muspellian to come her way, her hammer making a masterful arc upward into the chest cavity of the rider. As her hammer came down to the ground so too did the rider.

The duo's foray's into the fight hadn't come without a price. A mounted spearman drove his namesake deep through Iaomai's shoulder, ensuring that he could no longer lift the horseslayer. Iaomai cried out, his eyes welling with tears through the pain. He fell to his knees again, holding onto the spear the rider had let go of. His world became the stinging heat that welled up from his wound.

Jorta took place standing over Iaomai. From her thigh two arrows had sprouted, and one from her shoulder but still she stood tall. The spearman rounded on the duo again, sword drawn. He charged the Askran woman, who unleashed a mighty howl that struck deep into the Muspellian. Shaken and losing confidence, as his horse approached the Askran soldiers he swung his sword, His blade clanged against her helmet, barely nicking her cheek underneath. The rider's inability to push through on his attack as his undoing. Like his ally before him, steel scratched on steel and pressed deep into bone. The rider had taken the hammer blow in his back and slumped forward on his steed.

If he lives then he'll live scarred, Jorta though bitterly. She released her hammer and cried out as three more arrows clustered into her gut. She fell to her knees and looked to Iaomai. The two smiled at each other, knowing at the very least their sacrifice wasn't in vein, and that they would not leave Nifl strangers.

The sound of hooves drew nearer. The Muspellian mounted archers drew closer. The three knocked three more arrows, when suddenly across the field a single command resounded.

"Halt!" The voice had come from behind them and though the voice was young, it commanded obedience. It landed on the five soldiers almost like a geas. The Askran looked back to see a dozen of their own mounted on Pegasi, and one figure standing in the snow. The woman was short. Her hair was long and plum colored, and she was adorned with elaborate red robes covered in yellow tassles.

"You stand in the presence of Sanaki, Empress of Begnion!" she cried. "I am the apostle, the voice the goddess." Her proclamation sent shook the Askran soldiers. A hero? They thought. Perhaps they had been saved.

The muspellian's did not share the Askran's relief. They turned their arrows toward the Apostle. In the air around her runes flared to life, creating a latticework of arcane energy. She glowed like a beacon, and with an all-consuming intensity she made a declaration.

"Then burn."

Serpent like trails of flame ignited in the air around the riders, coalescing into a solitary point. It erupted with the force of a geyser and emitted a heat that consumed all moisture from the surrounding field. The Askran soldiers fell back. They heard only one more word before their vision fell dark, and their minds fell quiet.

 _Cymbeline._


End file.
